We noted the first red flag when the ultrasound technician became quiet; when she pushed the probe into every inch of my slick, protruding belly; when instead of counting toes or fingers, we began counting minutes.
Knowing we’d return home within a few hours, my husband and I had left the paint trays and rollers on the floor, wrapped in plastic, so we could easily resume rolling our promised future onto the walls . . .
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Featured photo by Suhyeon Choi on Unsplash
